Chinese Cigarettes
by Sunruner
Summary: Romance? There's no love involved with this, no affection or idle comforts. It's raw and it's addictive, it's power and it's a release; something very loud but kept hidden under silk sheets and clouds of fragrant smoke. South Italy knows exactly what he wants and expects from China in this arrangement, but what he doesn't expect is one simple word: "No." Romachu. Darkship.
1. Slip of the Tongue

**The World Is Not Enough, Skyfall.**

**Uuuh, I was trying to do the 30 day OTP challenge, instead I ended up with this. I essentially failed the challenge with flying colours****!**

**All aboard the dark ship, Romachu!**

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_**Chinese Cigarettes**_

Slip of the Tongue

This relationship doesn't make much sense.

And it's not fair to call it a "relationship" either. It's less than that. More like an agreement, really.

A dangerous agreement, one the other wrote up and he blew smoke over. People like them can't just do things because they feel like it. There are consequences for every kiss and touch, there are repercussions for marked skin and bruised lips.

Romano will be fair: he gets the short end of things outside the bedroom. Once they leave the bed, or the table, or the couch, or that one awkward time in the limo on the way from the airport to the hotel, he loses. He gets burned economically, financially, and politically every time they touch.

But he's not the one taking away physical scars from these encounters, and he isn't carrying any emotional burdens either. It's just sex. It's just someone looking at him and demanding his presence, his voice, his touch, everything. Whatever he's willing to give is what the other one wants and he isn't about to lose that. It's just sex with someone who has never looked twice at his brother, but who sits with smouldering dark eyes in every meeting, catching soft lips between nicotine-stained teeth, incense and candle smoke following him like a sweet perfume that shouldn't catch him the way it does.

But it does.

So he follows.

And they fuck. He knows the other one should feel ashamed about it, about what they do, but neither of them do. It's just sex.

He begs and he moans and he pushes up into every thrust. He leaves scratch-marks down Romano's back and sinks his teeth into his shoulder. He curses him, maybe even hates him, but every time he comes he wraps his arms around Romano's neck and kisses him with soft, swollen lips. They'll kiss and kiss until they melt together and sink down in a tangle of silk sheets and black hair.

And when they're finished they have a smoke. Maybe they sleep for a little while first, but one of them always has cigarettes in a discarded pocket, or sitting next to the bed, and if he doesn't have a lighter then the other usually finds one.

Romano always complains that China's cigarettes are too floral, like the art in his house, but China thinks Italian brands taste more like burnt paper than shredded tabacco.

Their's is a business initiative that's gone completely wrong. For every shipment of illegal merchandise that shows up in South Italy's ports to pollute his industries, the People's Republic of China bleeds out the human collateral of the black market.

They both hate the criminals, they both hunt the criminals, but neither one of them can catch them. They've tried working together for a few years now, but aside from a few petty gains here and there, some black-bag techniques and the occasional raid, South Italy and China have realized they're better off helping each other cope with the stress than they are at actually hunting down and dealing with the corruption.

So it's wrong, and they've both been told to stop. Well, Romano's been told to stop: he isn't sure if anyone has the power to make China do something against his will anymore. But his little brother has warned him, and scolded him, and even a couple of times begged him to stop letting these meetings happen.

Romano has never agreed to try, and he hasn't really thought about it either. Of all the things that can make his situation worse this arrangement doesn't even make the top five. It's just sex.

It's just sex that, the first time it happened, they were both too piss drunk and miserable about everything else to even care. They were too hung-over the next morning to make heads or tails of it, so Romano just got dressed and went home to shower. They came back to work with each other a few weeks later and it was business as usual not getting anything done or making any kind of significant progress.

Until Romano lost his temper about something, and instead of getting mad back at him when he told his associate to put his pretty little mouth to better use, China did exactly that. He did it on his knees in his own office, and Romano just knew it was better than getting piss drunk and passing out on a couch or a sidewalk.

The next time they almost got caught in a Beijing police station, and after that they found a hotel room in Naples. The first time they stuck around long enough to fall asleep with one another was at China's private residence, and Romano left again before breakfast.

It's just sex. It's not a relationship or a love affair. It's just China mouthing softly at his collar bone as he wakes up again after another tryst. It's just Romano's hand lifting itself up on its own to drag those long black strands of hair off the other's face and back. China's hair is coarse and rough, but he doesn't dye it to keep it black: Romano would know by now if he did. The lot of it is thick and heavy in his hand, he can feel the weight of it as he smoothes it down over China's shoulder.

He doesn't like the word "lover" for this agreement. It's not a relationship, it's just sex. So what if they've gone from fucking irregularly on the job to comfortably spending the night together? They don't go on dates: Romano doesn't take China out to dinner, China doesn't buy tickets to things for them to go see.

China's soft lips work their way up from his chest and along his neck, pausing so his tongue and teeth can work together on his throat until Romano lets out a breath a bit faster than he meant to. It's not his fault he felt that shock down his spine, and he hears China's triumphant little '_hah…'_ before the other one stops curling his fingers in the patch of hair sitting on Romano's chest.

He wants a fucking kiss? Fine, Romano rolls them over in the early morning light and gives one of the most powerful nations in the world a fucking kiss. And he doesn't let China up afterwards, especially not when he feels those arms twine around his neck, sturdy hips waiting under his while thick legs coax and pull him down.

It's just sex.

Those lips are soft though, and he likes running his tongue over them. He enjoys the intimate touch of letting his lip brush back and forth under the other's nose as they share a breath. Their eyes are only half open, the black set below him glossy with sleep and shaded by a frill of soft lashes.

But it's just sex.

"Italy?" His name is breathed between those lips and it's so good to wake up to. He smiles because it's a bad joke the other one likes to hit him with: that name originated in the south, but it's the north everyone always thinks of first.

"Hmm?" A cigarette would be good right about now, but he can still taste the smoke on China's skin from when they indulged last night. He finds it funny that China's body, although corded with muscle and full of power, is nearly hairless. It's more like soft black peach-fuzz feathered across his forearms and painting a very faint trail from the middle of his chest down past his navel all the way to his groin. Romano's hand traces that path now and is met with approval from the hand resting on the back of his head.

He's dragged back down for another kiss, eyes closed, and he's not quite ready to break for air when China tilts his head a little and starts to speak. It's a conflict: his hands are still coaxing and pulling, but when Romano actually stops and sorts out what the other man is saying...

"I think I might be spoiling this."

He doesn't know what that means: this is just sex.

"I think..." But Romano isn't ignorant in bed, so as he slides his hand away from the path he was tracing down China's body and he listens to what's being whispered under him. "I've started enjoying this too much."

"That's the point." He plays dumb, just in case he's not hearing things right. He goes in for another one of those intimate kisses, but he's stopped when China opens his eyes properly.

"No it's not, and you know that." They're both completely lucid now, and that's a bad thing as the man under him adjusts the way his arms are draped over him, pulling back until it's just his hands on Romano's shoulders. "I like it _more_ than that..." Shit.

Shit shit _shit._

China leans up and kisses his lips again, but it's brief this time and Romano doesn't kiss back. He's thinking, and he doesn't like what he's thinking of.

Because if it's not just sex, then what is it?

* * *

Romano is here in Beijing with Interpol documents and lots of government security clearance, a hotel room was reserved for him and is currently holding his unopened luggage. That room is currently inaccessible to him because he didn't check in properly when he arrived: he stayed somewhere _else_ last night.

His carry-on and laptop bag are both with him right now though, and that's how he's able to get cleaned up and dress himself in fresh clothes before leaving China's private residence. Because he's here alone in Beijing, Romano makes a b-line for the Italian consulate and decides that he's better off being productive today than moping around about his fuck-buddy making things awkward for them.

It's. Just. Sex.

Itisjustsexitisjustsexitisjustsex.

That declaration follows him around the office all day, back and forth through the different rooms and even out onto the street when he goes to get something for lunch. Sex only. Only sex. That's all it fucking is: fucking.

After his lunch he gets to play with time-zones for a bit and has a game of telephone tag with his brother back in Rome, but by the time they're done with that Romano finds himself being driven to an important meeting.

And of course, because he's in China's capital, that's who the meeting is with. He's not stupid, and he's not some little kid either who can't fucking separate work and not-work when he's abroad for the next few days on business. Nothing creepy happens and Romano knows China well enough by now to understand from the lack of sustained eye-contact, among other things, that he doesn't want to let this morning get in the way of this meeting.

So it goes smoothly until the end, because as the Chinese and Italian delegates both start packing up, China keeps his seat at the table.

Romano can leave. He can totally just walk out of here and not look back: break up by default or something. Not that they're breaking up, because there's nothing _too_ break up, but that's the best way he can think of putting it. So he can totally just leave right now, but instead he take a long, slow breath in through the nose and then sits back down again at the table, this time taking the chair next to his host.

The last of their personnel leave without asking questions, and probably without wondering either. People like them are in a class all their own, so when the door to the meeting room clicks shut, China takes a breath and speaks first.

"Do you want to talk about it?" China'll have to tell him what they're supposed to talk about. Romano's not sure how he feels about that quiet smirk he puts on next to him. "It didn't seem right to push the topic this morning, you seemed more interested in getting ready to go."

"I'm here on business, I can't just not show up to work." Lie, but he'll argue that one if China wants to go there. The other nation just takes a sip of his cold tea, and it's Romano's turn to be blunt: "If you want to talk then say something: what do you want?"

"I like things the way they are."

"Bullshit." Those black eyes swing around to look at him, the floral-patterned cup in his hand poised delicately over his thumb and hovering a few inches from his lips. But no, Romano isn't going to let China pull the age card right now, he's older than the hills but _so is South Italy_. He isn't some young buck who has no idea what he's doing, for Christ's sake he might have been a child during Rome's empire, but he was a child for a _long_ time..

"If that was really how you felt, then you wouldn't have said anything."

"That's very presumptuous of you."

"No it's _not._" He snaps the words and he doesn't even feel bad about it, gesturing sharply with one hand while he drums his fingers on the armrest of his chair. "Did this change just occur to you out of the blue this morning?"

China doesn't answer, and he isn't looking at him anymore either. That teacup is still suspended in front of him so Romano pushes again.

"If you don't say anything then I'm going to take that as a no: it didn't just hit you when we woke up." Which means it happened before now, and _that_means_: "_So you thought about it before saying anything, right?" China never does anything without thinking it through, not unless it involves either food or pandas. He's staring so hard at nothing Romano's not even sure how he's keeping that cup balanced anymore.

"Tell me what you want." He repeats, and he watches China remain completely frozen for a moment before coming back to himself. He breathes in quickly and then sits forward to place his cup back down on its little ceramic dish, answering by the time he settles back down in his chair.

"Two things. First, I want to know why you're so offended by the idea that you have more than just technique in your favour, and second I want you to forget I just said that _and_ what I said this morning."

"You want me to forget."

"Yes, just put it completely out of mind so we can be done talking about this."

"Are we done?"

"Talking about this?" That's so not what Romano meant, but China's head snaps in his direction and if he didn't know any better he'd say the older nation is actually getting upset over the issue. It's the surest sign Romano can think of that says he should he put it bluntly and say that this agreement is terminated. He should announce right now that they'll continue doing whatever administrative tasks will help with their work but that the part where they sneak out and pound the stress out of each other is finished.

It's what he should say, but China was quick to turn his question on its head. China's moods are still difficult to make sense of, he's still an enigma that South Italy hasn't invested any obvious time or effort in decoding, but he knows China likes to have things his way.

Romano could walk away right now; he could just get up and leave.

He could do it because China doesn't have a leg to stand on in this situation, he can't call on anything Romano's felt or said or done in the past to keep him here. He could walk the hell away and go back home if he really wanted to. The only thing that's stopping him from leaving right now is the one thing he can't understand.

He doesn't _want_ to go.

It's just sex, and now China's threatening to complicate something that was so god-damned simple and that's worked _so fucking_ _well_ for them over the last few months. He should be running for the door, but he doesn't want to.

Romano is pissed with himself and beyond words about it, but China is still staring straight at him waiting for some kind of answer to his last question. Throwing this kind of shit at him right after a stressful four hour meeting has them both sitting precariously at their limit, so Romano comes up with the only thing that makes the slightest amount of sense to him right now:

"I'm hungry." He closes his eyes and settles himself back down in his chair, hands on the arm rests next to him. "I can't even remember what we're supposed to be fighting about." Lie:

Romano just doesn't _care_.

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**I currently have four more chapters finished and will be posting them over the next few days. It's fairly plotless but hey, Romachu right? Followers on tumblr have already seen this fic, but now it's got a permanent home here on FFN.**

**Review it if you read it! See you soon with chapter two!**


	2. Told You So

**Haha I bungled something and forgot that chapter 2 was added to the end of chapter 1. This story is actually five chapters long in total, and I will be updating at least once a day until it's all posted!**

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**_Chinese Cigarettes_**

Told You So

It should be over, it should be done, they shouldn't be doing this anymore because it's supposed to just be about sex: not love or affection or any of those things that wither away and die.

One of them is drunk and it's probably Romano, which is his own damned fault because he knows what Chinese wine is like, and he knows what China is like, but damn it he can't help himself sometimes. Nations treat their guests to all kinds of cuisine and entertainment when they visit: it's equal-parts one-upmanship and pride in themselves and their people, but it's dangerous if you don't know where you stand with your host.

Right now though, Romano is standing with his back against a wall and China's mouth all over his. He's intoxicated and caught up in the moment, but it's a good moment, it's a good feeling. He likes those soft peach-coloured lips and he enjoys that flowery paper scent of smoke, and when he gets his fingers through that coarse black hair he's reminded of how much he likes that too and he bends China's head back to get the kind of kiss they're both panting for.

It's not subtle, sweet, or romantic: it's gasping and lusting and grunting in a dark alley somewhere between the restaurant they just left and the hotel Romano was walking to. He doesn't like doing it without four walls and the option of a bed, but with China's hands already liberally exploring the territory under his shirt and around behind his waist, South Italy's beginning to care less and less.

Mm, but he does like to touch, and a fuck in the dark isn't good for skin and contact and sweat. China's lips run away from his and Romano can feel his lungs rattling for air, a drunk grin sticking to his face when the wet heat gets him down the side of his neck and China's hips invade the space between his legs.

God it's good to feel ravished sometimes, his skin is just burning under his clothes as they change roles for a little bit. Every now and then China decides to give up the guilty euphoria of letting someone else take control, and there's nothing to complain about with a partner who knows exactly what he's doing. Romano knows he's completely wasted when China hitches one of his legs up around the shorter nation's hips, and his only response is a drunk giggle that his partner smothers with a hungry kiss.

Something in Mandarin falls off China's mouth, and Romano only catches the "_I'll make you" _part of it before the rest is a blur of controlling hands and strong gyrations.

How he makes it back to China's residence instead of his hotel is a mystery, but it almost feels like they're back to being their usual selves. He's content with the Chinese cigarette pressed between his lips, especially when it's paired with the Chinese not-his-lover straddling his waist trying to talk to him through the haze.

"What's better than just sex?" He should be asleep instead of dealing with stupid questions, but his warm body is still tingling and floating on the ecstasy of orgasm.

"Fuck if I know, Yao…" And China does have a handsome way about himself. It takes time to notice the attraction with his wide face and the fact that he's never been the tallest or broadest of men, but it's there. He's got strong hands meant for hard work, a plus Romano has always admired. His thighs are thick and hard, all muscle and bone with barely enough fat to make him smooth where he's straddling the Italian's darker body. Romano like certain features on women versus men, and those strong legs are one of the parts of China's body that South Italy enjoys most. His straight shoulders are another…

"Talking is the only thing we don't do."

"Talking, going out, sending stupid texts, making false promises-"

"Neither one of us is stupid enough to think that love between nations can last forever."

"No, but one of us is still stupid enough to think he's in love." Romano drags on his cigarette and purposefully blows a lung-full of smoke in China's face, watching him scowl and almost, maybe, get offended. "Fuck, Yao, what do you want me to say?" What does he expect from an arrangement that has never been about anything more than sex?

"I want you to be quiet." Skin moving over skin wakes Romano up a little more, and he takes a longer puff on his cigarette to fulfill China's wish for silence, watching with healthy interest as his legs are moved and China's tough body settles between his thighs again. But he doesn't just kneel there, because a moment later China has his hands on Romano's shoulders and he's pushing him down into the mattress, ignoring the grunt he makes trying to free up a hand so he can deal with his cigarette without setting the bed on fire. "Just shut up and stop acting like-"

Romano doesn't hear the rest of that because China's hands and body are very talented at what they do, and they've gotten very good at doing it to him. He does end up singed by the cigarette when China surprises him with an electric touch, but the embers are brushed away and discarded somewhere out of mind before soft lips close over his again. His body is tired, maybe a little bit sore, but he braces his legs over silk sheets and moves his hips up in agreement, even more pleased when he feels the tension in the body over his. China's rough hands become firm, almost unkind, and South Italy sinks into the triumphant bliss of _'I fucking told you so'_ as his partner takes out his anger in the best way they both know how.

Maybe it takes an hour, maybe it's a little less, all that matters is that if they don't fall asleep soon they're both going to have a hellish time at work the next day. When they're done however Romano doesn't get his own reaction: he doesn't understand what makes him notice it or why he even thinks he might be upset by it. When Yao rolls over with his back facing him, wrapped up in blankets and without saying a word, Lovino is stumped to hear himself quietly, curiously, wondering what's wrong.

It's a stupid thing to think and he just makes himself creep out of bed, taking refuge in a hot shower to wash away some of the smoke and most of the sweat from two long rounds. When he crawls back to bed he expects to just fall asleep as soon as the silk settles around him, but instead he lays there grinding his exhausted teeth wondering why the fuck Yao is so hell-bent on ruining this.

At least in the end he does fall asleep, and it's a deep sleep permeated by floral smoke and hedged with lusting looks. It's warm and it's so comfortable, it fills in the gaps a hard day of politics have broken in his mind and soothes the soreness in limbs abused by a scorned suitor.

So when Yao's cell-phone goes off at six to wake them up, Romano barely lifts his head off the back of the silk pillow. He feels the body in his arms tense up and then stretch one arm free from the blankets to bat the stupid device off the night-stand, and that somehow turns it off, and they both settle back down for more sleep.

It takes Lovino another sleepy sixty minutes to realize he's travelled the entire width of the bed in his slumber, and five after that to understand how he only really wakes up once Yao leaves the blankets and takes that sickly-sweet scent of burning paper with him.

He's fucked.

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**Mweheheee…**


	3. A Convincing Argument

_**Chinese Cigarettes**_

A Convincing Argument

He's fucked, he's fucked, he's fucked, and he'd really rather not be.

In fact, Romano is so fed-up at this point that when the visit is finally over he declines China's offer that he stay an extra day or two. He doesn't lie and say Veneziano needs him back urgently, or make up a story about air-lines and cancellation fees, he just straight up tells China the truth.

"Yeah, this isn't going to work anymore."

"What?"

And then he leaves. There, it's fucking done: they and whatever they had going on is now over. This is a stupid thing for Romano to get so caught up in, but he mulls over it for the entire flight back to Rome, and when he gets back to the town house he and his brother share together in the middle of their capital, his shitty mood is no better.

Probably because Veneziano is in Venice when Romano gets home, meaning he's still fucking alone with himself when an e-mail lands squarely in his phone.

'_What do you mean 'this isn't working'? I thought we settled that the other night._

_-__**PRC**__'_

Oh _fuck _no, they are not going to start sending stupid personal e-mails to each other!

'_I told you not to send me e-mails about stupid shit like this._

_-__**IR**__'_

Hah, that'll show him.

A minute and a half later, his phone is assaulted by another message.

'_Even I know how to not answer an e-mail, now stop deflecting and answer me. I couldn't very well ask you in front of my boss._

_-__**PRC'**_

Oh for fuck's sake. No, Romano isn't going to answer that one. He'd much rather go around the house and realize that there's absolutely nothing to do to distract him from the glowing words on the screen. All the laundry is done and put away, the suit Romano had sent to the cleaners is back and hung up in his closet, his brother didn't leave anything perishable in the fridge for Romano to clean out, the fucking cat still has food and fresh water, and he's almost positive the floors were freshly swept and mopped by Veneziano before he left.

That _asshole._

"I'm not doing it." So Romano finds himself sitting on the couch in his living room, arms folded and glaring down at the smart phone sitting on the coffee table in front of him. "We're not fucking doing this, China, I told you that."

Romano blames it on the jet-lag when somewhere between fixing himself something small to eat and climbing into bed for a mid-day nap, he fires off another e-mail that reads:

'_It's not working means we're not doing that anymore. It was fun while it lasted, so thanks._

_-__**IR**__.'_

He sleeps soundly and even after he wakes up again, there's no response from China. That means it's over, they've cut the physical bond, now they can go back to everything being business as usual.

It's two days later when Romano finds the half-pack of Chinese cigarettes he forgot about at the bottom of his suitcase. He's not sure what to do with them, but before Veneziano arrives home he's quick to stash the package in his sock-drawer, just because.

"Ve~! How was the weather in Beijing?" That question is literally as far as Veneziano will go with regards to China. He wants nothing to do with the topic, and he barely puts up with hearing what minor progress Romano can report about the business troubles he actually goes over there trying to fix. His little brother has the most unapologetic way of hating on the arrangement, and just on principle Romano refuses this one time to correct him: fuck you, I can fuck who I want.

Life goes on and it's a month, almost two, before Romano finds himself back in a place where his path can understandably cross with China's.

Because all of them are in New York for a meeting, and Veneziano is too wrapped up talking to Austria and Hungary to notice when someone takes Romano by the arm and drags him away around a corner and through a locked door.

"What the hell are you-!?"

"_Shut up."_ Oh, he knows who it is. Romano knows those lips that force their way over his and he knows the hands wrinkling his shirt where China has it bunched up between his hands so he can force South Italy against the door he just closed. The wrinkles piss him off, but not as much as the tremble that shoots through him when he tastes that musky sweetness on China's breath and clothes.

Romano hooks one arm up under China's shoulder and pushes the other against the man's chest. It's harder to move his legs and work an ankle behind China's, but he finally gets it right and with a shove and a hard twist, it's China with his back against the wall and Romano who's there to pin him like that. The eastern power still has a grip on him, but the life-sucking kiss ends and they both just stand there in the dark looking at each other, panting.

"I thought I told you we were done with this."

"What, no break-up fuck?" China shouldn't say it like that with his eyes half-lidded and his tight hold pulling Romano a little closer. "I told you: we settled all of that in Beijing. You made yourself perfectly clear, now stop trying to be nice."

"I'm not being nice."

"Try a little harder and maybe I'll believe you."

Romano is looking for words, any kind of words, but they have to be the right ones to explain something he can't explain, a complication that doesn't have a clear problem or solution. He's stalled trying to come up with anything to say when China's hands moves from his shirt to his jacket, and then with a hard yank he's pulled right back into his not-his-ex's convincing hold.

It's that smell, it's something about that incense-laden industrial stink that clogs up Romano's thoughts as a raw, open-mouthed gasp for attention turns into more, so much more. Because then it's the two of them moving with each other, almost synchronized and taking turns, licks and laps and sucks and breaths. It's a kiss that won't break as Romano tilts his head one way and Yao's hands slip possessively through his hair, combing and stroking as South Italy puts his weight down on that other body, the one that feels so good wrapped around and against him, and it all feels too good to be bad.

His hands start wandering, he can feel them searching for the edges and seams of China's clothes. He knows the skin underneath silk and cotton so well that he can tell himself what that black down feels like against his fingertips and remember how little give there is in the tight body obviously screaming for his.

"Mm-" Oh, don't you dare try to speak now you piece of- "I have-" Oh God he _is_ trying to say something, and Romano's as frustrated by that as he is with the hand that stops clutching his back and actually forces its way between their mouths.

Fuck Yao for grinning like that, Romano doesn't find this fucking funny.

"I have a Security Council meeting…"

"You couldn't have fucking thought of that…" he hates him, "…_before_ dragging me in here?" Romano decides in that moment to take all the weird feelings and conflicting desires and dump them in the big box labelled _'hate'_ in his brain. The decision is all the easier to stick to when their faces are close enough to share breaths, and China's fingertips have moved so they're caressing his cheek and jaw tenderly.

"What can I say?" Sorry. Sorry would be a good god-damned place to- "I saw an opportunity and I took it, _Italia, _don't act so offended." He's offended by the words as much as he's offended by China's touch running over his top lip. However much he wants to chase that hand and the wafting smell of burnt tobacco to its source under China's clothes, he has to let him go.

"_Fine._" But as soon as his hands let go and Romano takes a step back, he gets a shock through his system as one of his wrists is grabbed, his arm twisted behind his back-

_SLAM._

-and his body doubled over the table that was standing behind him in the dark.

"_Fucking hell, Yao!"_ His arm isn't being bent hard enough to hurt, but Yao is holding him down with enough strength that it _will_ hurt if he fights back too much. The sound of China's quiet laugh, however, does not come with the jangle of his belt coming undone, or a hand invading his-

N-nevermind that last point…

"Ah…" China has strong hands, rough and hardened by labour and chemical contamination, but they're warm and Romano can feel the fingers that cup down his ass and grope him through his pants. When that hand travels up it brings an unwelcome shiver, and that kind of violation pools like cold water in his gut as Yao's fingers invite themselves down under his belt and against his skin.

"You're enjoying this~" The sing-song way he murmurs the words makes Romano grit his teeth. He can't get both shoulders off the table, but he twists his way around just enough that he can see that smile in the dark and glares at it.

"At least undo the fucking belt."

"So insistent…" But Yao ignores him, and Romano ignores that too because when that thick hand comes around over his hip and slides aggressively down to take him, literally, by the balls it's all Romano can do to just bite his lip and close his eyes. He sucks a long, slow breath in through his teeth when China's touch moves to wrap around him instead, but then the fun ends when he feels the stronger nation lean against him and bend down to hiss in his ear.

"Are we done?" Romano's current condition is completely China's fault, so no, they're- "Because I distinctly remember you telling me that we weren't doing this anymore, so I guess I should stop."

"Don't pull this shit right n-aaahhh…" China doesn't _pull_ so much as firmly, slowly, and with such a strong grip, drag his hand _down_ and lets the shock of it weaken Romano's knees so he puts all of his weight on the table.

"Assault is a serious issue between two people, Lovino, nevermind two nations…" He really doesn't care right now, he just wants Yao to move his thumb where the pad of it is pressed right down on his tip, frustratingly still as he pins his eyes shut and tries rocking his hips to get the reward he wants. "If we're done with each other then I really shouldn't-"

"Give me your god-damned room number, Yao." He'll buy them dinner, he'll bring flowers, they'll go dancing, he doesn't care: "just move your fucking _hand…_"

"I know what you like," the rest of what Yao says is all a blur after that, at least he wishes it would be. Instead as his body is shaken and controlled he hears the full message: "And you know what I love, so unless you can come up with a real reason to end this, Italy, I have to disagree with your decision. But don't worry: I'll be more than happy to convince you that my way is better…"

By the time Yao leaves for his meeting, Romano is on his knees panting next to the table. He's shaking and somehow completely unfulfilled despite the mess inside his clothes. But as he rests his head against the table and just sits there, gathering himself together piece by fragile piece, he knows there's one thing he definitely wants:

A cigarette, and the Chinese kind if he can find them.


	4. Hung Out to Dry

**Xenoblade Main Theme, Kuon No Kawa**

**You guys know I can't do a thing with one Itabro without bringing in the other :D**

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_**Chinese Cigarettes**_

Hung Out to Dry

Something's changed.

Something's different.

Something, he's afraid to admit it, might be wrong.

"Romano?" Something might be wrong and the first one to notice it is Veneziano the next morning, which doesn't surprise him, but it makes things difficult. "Romano are you alright? You don't look well."

He doesn't feel well either, because as he sits down next to his younger brother at the meeting room table, South Italy feels like he should be hung-over. His body is sore, especially his arms that were pulled back behind him for so long last night that he almost lost all feeling in them. His head feels empty because he wasn't given any chance to relax or regroup in China's clutches, and although his body is still whimpering half-remembered things of staggering ecstasy and guilty fragments of affection, there are bruises under his clothes that Romano isn't used to wearing.

Something last night in China's room dragged him over the line of stress and lust and into possession and domination. He knew that this was a dangerous dance to get into with a super-power nation, but last night China showed him just a handful of the reasons why. Romano isn't under any illusions any more, every time he's been the one pushing China down and controlling him, it's only been because the stronger nation has _let_ him get away with it.

The distinction between what Romano allowed and what was simply _done_ is blurry and a little bruised in his head right now. Last night wasn't a mighty unveiling of kinks and strange tastes, it was just overwhelming and harsh.

"Italy, pay attention!" Germany's voice is a fog-horn across the table, and South Italy is so fatigued he doesn't even snap back for the blond to bite his fucking tongue because this meeting is only ten minutes old.

"We are! You're just being mean!" So Veneziano blurts out a response instead, which earns a gasp from the peanut gallery that is France and Spain. This morning only the Europeans are meeting together, but in about forty minutes America is scheduled to make a dramatic appearance from the Asian conference a few rooms down the hall: because he's America, and that's how he likes to run things when he's hosting.

"I'm fine…" His voice feels rough in his throat and the sound makes Veneziano look at him with an _I-know-you're-lying _glint in his eyes. He feels his Italian slipping into something less than the standard breed their government operates in, but it doesn't get in the way of his brother's understanding: "We'll talk after."

And he means that. If he was his own nation completely cut off from everyone else then he wouldn't have to talk about it, and no one would have to listen, but he's half of a whole and sometimes they just need to communicate with each other. When Romano reaches half-way between them with one hand, Veneziano quickly meets him and they let their fingers weave together, holding on like that until they both need to take notes on something Austria says about the numbers flashing on the projector screen.

The meeting is dull but not awful, and America's entrance is obnoxious but not all together a waste of time. When lunch is called Romano sticks close to his brother's side, the two of them hurrying out of the building and into a taxi that will carry them somewhere far from the rest of the delegates. It's not too hard to guess where exactly they're headed however: when the Italy Brothers are in New York, they always eventually manage to find their way into the Bronx.

There are enough flavours of Italian in the world that the two of them can pick and choose whether to allow the population around them pick up on what they're saying: they both know and speak each other's dialects, and they still remember Vulgar Latin from Grandpa Rome's day, nevermind the scholastic Latin from Grandpa's fall until the modern age.

Sometimes it's fun to speak in simple, standard Italian and watch older Italian-Americans stare and smile and sometimes work up the courage to speak to them in restaurants or coffee shops. Other times, like right now, they're barely in the restaurant door before Veneziano paves the way with Vulgar Latin and asks him what in God's name is wrong. Romano only waits until they're seated before reluctantly giving his answer:

"I think I made China mad…"

"_I told you so!" _Yeah, yeah, yeah… "I knew this would happen! I told you so in the beginning, didn't I?" He did, fine: fuck him his stupid brother was right.

The brief silence that falls over them when the waitress arrives for their orders distracts Veneziano from his bought of superiority. The trouble they're in rears its head when instead of vowing to defend himself, Romano takes the blame and just keeps his arms folded on the table, eyes occasionally glancing out the window when it doesn't hurt him to look away.

"You didn't… have to agree so easily…" Now his brother sounds worried again, and when Romano doesn't answer right away he hears Veneziano scooting his chair around so instead of sitting across the round table from each other, their elbows are nearly touching. "Romano?"

"It's not political, at least I don't think so." China didn't say anything last night to that effect, but Romano is still running on almost no sleep. "But I know I pissed him the fuck off…"

"What did you do?"

"I broke it off-" _Well_… "I tried to break it off."

Veneziano's response is silence, and Romano handles that silence by just taking a deep breath and sitting up properly in his chair. Others might expect his brother to take bad personal news the way he handles bad political news: by flying into a panic and running screaming from the room to find Germany. Romano knows him better than that.

"What do you want me to do?" Romano knows how his brother's head works, and there's no way for uninvolved Nations to help sort out a personal issue. It has to be handled internally, so that's what they're doing with his brother sitting there with his long fingers laced together on the table, pursing his pink lips and golden brown eyes watching carefully as Romano answers him.

"Just be aware of what's happening. As long as it stays personal then you shouldn't be affected."

Veneziano opens his mouth, reconsiders whatever he almost blurts out, and then says something else:

"What are _you_ going to do?"

"Try and figure out how upset he actually is, or if last night was just a once-off." He almost doesn't add that last part, but it has to be said and Veneziano's white knuckles and clenched jaw will just have to calm down and deal with it.

"Usually when it's at a conference you still come back to our room afterwards." That has got to be the closest Veneziano has ever come to actually talking about what happens between Romano and China, but the patches of green forcing their way onto his cheeks mean it's a blessing when their food arrives and gives them both a reason to shut up and drop the issue. They've discussed what's happening, and Romano understands that he has Veneziano watching his back in case anything goes wrong.

This means that the only thing Romano has left to worry about today… is the Global Conference meeting with China tonight…

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**Sorry to skip over the sex, but we needed an Itabros chapter. I'm tired of too many fics where something happens with one of them and the other isn't so much as mentioned…**

**If you read it, please review it!**


	5. Three Lefts Make A Right

**Starvation, whole playlist, All The Wrong Reasons.**

**Aaaand finished! To be fair this actually took a couple months to write, so it really didn't take much time away from my other projects.**

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_**Chinese Cigarettes**_

Three Lefts Make a Right

China doesn't just want Romano to come and speak to him after a meeting that runs hours into the night, he _expects_ him to. What surprises South Italy is that instead of being led somewhere dark and private, the other nation just takes him around a corner before turning around to ask him something.

"Do you want a repeat of last night?" _Want?_ The way China smiles his way through the question suddenly puts him in a strange position.

"Oh, so you're giving me a choice now?" Romano is skeptical.

"You had the choice to just not come to my room." China's smile becomes a grin over his ageless face, and South Italy can feel himself bristling at his implication. "And you could have left at any point." He's got his hands folded in front of him, clearly forgetting that he's wearing short western sleeves instead of those flowing robes and wide cuts he's always wearing back in Beijing. It's troubling to remember the domination he went through last night and connect it to the shorter nation grinning and of all things _bouncing on his toes_ in front of Romano now.

"You're joking." China laughs low in his throat at the accusation, tilting his head with one thumb pressed beside his chin. It's a quirk he has that he only shows when he doesn't believe a statement. "Or you're lying: if I'd tried getting up you would have just held me back down."

"Mm, I would have tried…" He's got this weird fascination with trying to convince Romano he's somehow better than he actually is, but China's eyes are already darkening slowly in his round face. "If you were in distress you would have figured something out, Lovino, and what kind of Nation do you take me for anyways?" One that had assaulted him in the board room yesterday. "With your permission, or did you black out somewhere in the middle and forget that part?"

This is all wrong, but Romano can't talk his way around or figure his way through it. He knows the look that China's trying to hide however: he can feel the eyes touching him through the fog of recent memories.

"What kind of game are you playing, Yao?" Because maybe he isn't as angry as Romano thought…

"One I'm going to _win,_ Lovino_…_" And now he's purring, his voice dropping away to the point where if he listens then South Italy can hear the chatter of the others breaking across the shrinking distance. The other nations have figured out where they're eating tonight, meaning this conversation has to end. "Are you coming?"

China takes a step back, clearly meaning to lead him away around the corner and down the hall behind them. They can escape if they go now, quietly together, and the only ones who will notice that they're missing will be Veneziano when he can't find his other half, and the other four members of the Security Council when they can't place China in the crowd.

It's wrong, it's wrong, it's all completely and utterly wrong. His gut is screaming at him that there's no amount of sex-appeal that can make up for all the _wrong_ circling around them like smog, that the lust is going to poison him like the smoke he swears he can smell again just by _thinking_ of following.

But China isn't mad at him. _'Isn't that a good thing?'_ a stupid voice trapped somewhere inside of him whispers. Because China is a very powerful nation, so it's much better to stay on his good side, isn't it?

"Lovino?"

Isn't it?

South Italy follows, but only until he knows where they might be headed: then he takes China's arm in one hand and he leads.

"No." he finally answers, remembering a question China had asked him just before. "I don't want a _repeat_ of last night."

Taking Yao's key-card from him is easy, because it's practically handed to Romano before they reach the room. Getting the door open is easy, getting Yao inside is easy, deciding what to do with him, again, is easy.

But doing it is hard.

The fact that Romano has to pause is what pisses him off, because it shouldn't be hard, it should be just as easy as the rest and yet it's not. It's not easy to walk up to China where the stronger nation is standing there waiting, because what's in his head and what's established between them are very different. He's tired from yesterday and today, but he grabs China by the black lapels of his suit, dragging him close and cutting off a needling comment about hesitation.

Kissing China isn't hard; kissing China _this way_ is hard. It isn't Romano's mouth crushing China's to shut the superpower up, it isn't teeth getting ready to bite and hold, or a twisting force meant to bend the other's head back and down so shoving him on the bed will be easier. It's a hard kiss, yes, and Romano moves quickly because he wants the surprised access to China's mouth that he's given with a gasp, but then it changes.

'_What do you want?'_ Asking the question out loud won't give him any answers, China will just evade and deflect them. Bunching up his suit jacket and letting it fall part way down the other man's back is one technique to help Romano get his way, because instead of letting China shake it off and undress, Lovino holds the front of the garment tight in one hand so it pins his arms down below the shoulders. It's not unbreakable, but it's intentional, and it frees up one of Romano's hands to travel up behind China's neck, palm flush against pale skin and pulling until his head is tilted back and his mouth opens a little bit more.

There's a soft, unwilling noise that comes out the back of China's throat, and when Romano checks he sees how the shorter man's eyes are closed, his mouth responding slowly to urgent laps and full caresses against lips and tongue. He can feel the way China's body is relaxing in his hold, almost the opposite of the fire and near-pain of what they went through last night with each other. And that _smell_…

He smells like smoke, he tastes like it; the rose-hips and jasmine buds burnt to cinders against thin lips. Romano can't focus on what he's doing when he needs the next deep breath in through his nose and creeps his hand up along the back of China's head, looking for the tie keeping his black hair tightly restricted and almost out of mind. There are hands trying to reach up for him, stressing but not breaking free of the expensive wool Romano's still clutching shut. When he lets go, China doesn't hesitate to drop the layer and reach up for him, arms twisting over his shoulder as Lovino hooks his arm under China's shoulder and holds him close and tight.

He can feel the warmth and give of skin through the other man's white shirt, and he can smell him, and when he finally leaves China's mouth so he can kiss down his jaw and find where his throat his hiding behind the shirt collar, he hears all the air whisper out of China's lungs. It's not an act when China's knees go weak and Romano ends up taking more of his weight, but it's a change South Italy takes and holds onto in his mind because after last night he has to keep thinking now.

What does China want? He _can_ have South Italy almost any way he wants, because China has the luxury of strength he just can't match and Italian pride that won't raise an alarm if it can be helped: and this is just sex.

But China doesn't just want sex, because as Romano gets him down on the bed now with his tie undone and his lips still working over pale skin and lungs breathing in faded ash, the hands reaching for him aren't looking for skin. And when South Italy doesn't undress him- doesn't pull his shirt free of his pants so his hands can run up underneath, doesn't unbuckle China's belt so he can free up his lower half for grasping and grinding- the man under him doesn't protest.

"Wh-why are you..?" And when Romano can feel himself suffocating on that almost sweetness and retreats to look back at China's flushed face, there's a trembling confusion in him that makes the smaller man reach up for his face and coax him back down for more kisses. Soft kisses, paralyzingly gentle and saved for dreams of someone who would be more than just sex and stress. Romano can't keep his eyes open, not when he's drawn down by clumsy legs and reaching hands to settle his weight over China's tough but somehow relaxed body. China doesn't ask the question again, just coils short arms around Romano's head and holds him like that.

Fanning China's coarse black hair out under them is something Romano doesn't purely for himself, but between bumping noses and reaching lips his hand is gentle. He wants to feel those thick black locks between his fingers, grazing gently over China's scalp to part his hair instead of letting it rest high and flat over his skull after being released from his formal look.

"Why like this…?" Once he's satisfied from those caresses and gentle grooming, Romano moves his arms down and around until they're hooked under China's shoulders, hands on the bedding and eyes open and hovering over the dark ones filled with something he could name- but won't.

"Why not?" Is Romano's answer, and he's watching all the power and control leak out of the face beneath his, touching sweet lips for a moment and knowing he's made the right choice when China doesn't lean up to kiss him back.

"Because it's _cruel_…" And China's voice is so soft that Romano knows he has him now.

"And so were you." But he softens his own words with another kiss, one that comes down far enough that China just takes it at first, holding their lips together before he pulls with his arms and breathes deep through his nose and returns it, his hands in Romano's hair and moving down his back.

Romano didn't ask for this, but neither did China: that's why it's okay when they shift and move together on the bed before settling down. Shoes are kicked off and Romano finally sheds his jacket and tie, coming back down at rest next to a lover who cares more than he should and who knows those feelings aren't returned. And he holds him.

South Italy takes one of the world's most powerful nations into his arms, and he holds him with China's face tucked against his throat, and clothed limbs tangled relentlessly over each other. And they don't have sex, and they don't make love, and they don't fuck. They don't do it because Romano isn't in love with China, but China is in love with him, and he's strong enough to stop South Italy from walking away.

"_I wish you knew all the reasons there are to adore you…_"

It's not a healthy way for China to use his strength, it's not ideal or in any way an expression of love. There will be repercussions for marked abuse and bruised hearts, people like them can't simply do or force things like this on one another without consequence.

"I wish you'd be quiet and not cry so much when you're like this…" But it still is, in a sense, an agreement. It's their agreement.

It's the one China drafted for them and Romano, in his limited wisdom, blew smoke over without reading. But he's not the one taking away emotional scars from these encounters, and he won't be carrying any psychological burdens either. On his end: it's just sex. It's just someone needing his body and demanding his presence, his voice, his touch, his everything. Whatever he's willing to give is what China wants, and the struggle to get free of it is too much in the name of a minor inconvenience. Of all the things that could make South Italy's life a little harder: sex with China doesn't make the top five, but being harassed, hounded, and forced along by him is probably up their somewhere.

For him it's just sex and attention with someone who has never looked twice at his brother, but who's laying here now with weeping red eyes pining for him to leave more of those soft, seductive kisses over thin lips and nicotine-stained teeth. The smell of incense and burning flowers keeps drifting off his skin like a sweet perfume that shouldn't satisfy Romano the way it does.

But it does.

So South Italy agrees.

And he stays.

**_Fin._**

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**Thanks for reading! Leave a comment below, maybe? I'd love to hear your thoughts on the pairing.**


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